


Emergency

by Little Spoon (AlwaysTheLittleSpoon)



Series: Occasionally Domestic [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt Stiles, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Derek, Scent Marking, Stiles Stilinski's Name is Mieczysław, Unintentional Secret Relationship, Waiting, Worried Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysTheLittleSpoon/pseuds/Little%20Spoon
Summary: Stiles is a hero, and Derek would never expect anything less from him even if they don't regularly chase down supernatural baddies anymore. But that doesn't mean Derek can't be furious. Or terrified.Derek's already lost his entire family, he doesn't want to lose Stiles too.





	

Derek couldn’t even begin to appreciate the unusually comfortable hospital chair because he was too intensely focused on Stiles lying unconscious in a hospital bed. It was so like Stiles to throw himself in front of a moving vehicle to save a little girl when she had chased her escaped balloon into the busy street.

Stiles was a hero. Derek would never expect anything less from him even if they no longer lived in Beacon Hills. That didn’t mean Derek couldn’t be furious. Or terrified. He’d already lost his entire family, everyone he’d ever loved, and the mere idea of losing Stiles made him physically ill.

After hearing a nurse calmly explain to him over the phone that there had been an accident, he’d nearly thrown up in the park where he’d been running. A kind woman had noticed and guided him over to a bench and rubbed his back in what would normally have been a soothing matter even if Derek liked to be touched, but he hadn’t even noticed. The mere idea of losing Stiles destroyed him because Stiles was all he had left.

Sighing, Derek shifted forward in his seat, hand tightening around Stiles’. He hadn’t let go since he sat down after they wheeled Stiles into the room after emergency surgery. That’s where he’d been when they called Derek six hours ago.

As far as Derek knew, Stiles had a punctured lung, several broken ribs, and his right leg as fractured in three places, plus a myriad of other injuries, bumps, and bruises. The doctors were concerned Stiles hadn’t woken up yet, and several further tests had been ordered. For now, it was a waiting game.

Patience had never been Derek’s strong suit. He was a fan of the maim first, ask questions later approach. Stiles had always been the one with the plan, though, on several occasions, he’d rushed in, bat in hand. Derek didn’t know what was more frightening: Stiles facing down an angry alpha with a bat, Stiles possessed by an ancient evil, or Stiles unconscious and vulnerable in the hospital.

At least against a supernatural threat, there was something for Derek to fight. Progress to be made. Not... waiting.

“Stiles...” Derek murmured. He moved to hold Stiles’ hand with both of his own and brushed his lips across the bruised knuckles. “I know you don’t listen to me. You never have, and it’s annoying as hell, but I’m begging you, for once in your life, please, listen to me now. You need to wake up. Stiles, please wake up.”

The only response was the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Stiles’ eyes were ringed with darkening bruises eerily reminiscent of the time he had been possessed by the nogitsune. He looked far too frail and still against the light blue hospital sheets. It was wrong.

Stiles was never still, not even when he slept. He was the definition of motion and nervous energy, which Derek was intimately familiar with. He’d had taken more than one accidental blow from a flailing limb, and learned the hard way that it was never a good idea to sneak up on him. Thankfully the broken nose had healed quickly, and Stiles had been somewhat apologetic between bouts of hysterical laughter.

Derek’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He awkwardly twisted, trying to fish it out with one hand because he refused to release Stiles’ hand. That physical connection was the only thing that kept him from losing control, flashing his eyes, or terrifying the nurses.

_Stilinski: Just landed. Any change?_

_Derek: stable. not awake_

Derek didn’t respond any further. He wasn’t talented enough to type out a lengthy message with one hand detailing everything the doctors knew, which wasn’t much, but he was relieved Stiles’ father had managed to catch the last minute direct flight to New York. Derek had booked it for him from the back of the cab to the hospital while the Sheriff was already on route to the airport. He doubted the Sheriff had even stopped home to pack a bag.

After Derek gave up trying to shove his phone back into his pocket and instead set it on the bed beside Stiles’ knee, Derek tugged the starchy wool blanket up and tucked Stiles in to keep him warm.

Their brush with Stiles nearly freezing to death a little over a year ago had left Derek far more attuned to Stiles’ human needs and weakness than before. He’d never thought of Stiles’ as particularly fragile until then because Stiles had always been stronger than him.

Even with the door closed, Derek could still hear the nurses chattering at the nurse’s station in the ICU. Soft footfalls and the wheels of a cart squeaked closer, and the door swung open.

Derek didn’t look up. His attention remained on Stiles’ face.

“I need to take some blood,” the nurse said.

Derek nodded in acknowledgment and stood up, hand still tightly clasping Stiles’. Brushing back Stiles’ hair, he kissed his forehead. “Go ahead,” he said, finally turning his attention to the nurse preparing the needle and vial. She was wearing pink scrubs, and her hair was pulled into a high ponytail. “It’s a good thing he’s not awake for this.”

The nurse smiled. “Not a fan of needles?”

Derek snorted. “There’d be screaming,” he said, trying to keep his tone light despite fighting the need to curl up protectively around his defenceless boyfriend. At least on his feet, he could more easily defend Stiles if the need arose. Their history with hospitals spoke for itself. “He broke one of my fingers once.”

Ouch,” she said, wincing in sympathy. “That’s quite the grip.”

“I’ve had worse,” he assured with a shrug. A wolfsbane bullet to the gut hurt a hundred times more. At least a broken finger or two healed in a matter of minutes.

It wasn’t until the blood was drawn and the nurse retreated that Derek was able to settle back into his seat beside the bed, hand still tightly grasping Stiles’, but not before he brushed his fingers down Stiles’ bare arm to chase away the nurse’s scent and fixed the blankets she had disrupted.

One of Derek’s first decisions had been to get Stiles a private room. It was easier to guard, and more importantly, quiet. All hospital bills would be billed straight to him. The Sheriff could fight him on it later, but his wolf demanded that he take care of what was his, and Stiles was very much his. He needed to prove to Stiles’ father that he could provide, even if the Sheriff hadn’t acknowledged their relationship. It only made him work harder to prove himself capable of taking care of Stiles.

“Guess I’m not doing a very good job,” Derek huffed to the sleeping teenager. He rubbed his thumb against the back of Stiles’ hand.

Asleep, Stiles looked so much younger. His face deceptively peaceful, worry lines gone. He’d gotten better over the last year or so. Fewer nightmares. Less jumpy. His twentieth birthday was in three weeks, and they’d been planning on driving up to Derek’s cabin upstate for a week before Stiles’ dad arrived to celebrate. The Sheriff had taken a month’s vacation, which it looked like he’d be taking early now.

Derek had been so tuned into the noise outside the room, constantly on alert, that he heard the Sheriff the moment he entered the ICU. The familiar beat of his elevated heart rate hadn’t changed since the last time Derek had been in Beacon Hills. It had only been for a few hours, but the time he’d spent looking after the Stilinski household over the years had fine-tuned his senses. He could pick out Stiles’ from the distance of several New York city blocks during rush hour. With Stiles’ penchant for trouble, it came in handy.

_“Where is my son? Last name is Stilinski. That bloody information line directed me here. Why is he in the ICU? I was told he was stable. If he was stable, he’d be out of the ICU wouldn’t he?”_

_“He’s in room 403,”_ a nurse said. Not the same one that had taken blood. _“I can page the doctor and have him-”_

 _“You do that.”_ Heavy footsteps approached the door.

Derek jumped to his feet and he nervously straightened his shirt the best he could with one hand before the door swung open. He cleared his throat. “Sir,” he greeted.

Relief crossed the Sheriff’s face when he saw Derek at Stiles’ side. “I think Noah is just fine, don’t you think, son?”

“If you say so, sir,” Derek responded. He had been correct in his assumptions. The Sheriff, or Noah, had no bags, and he was still fully dressed in his uniform, though his gun and belt were missing. No doubt because he would not have been allowed to carry them onto the plane.

Noah stopped beside the bed and lightly lay a hand on Stiles’ head. “How is he?”

“He still hasn’t woken up. I’ve been monitoring the situation the best I can, but they’re not saying much yet. He had a collapsed lung, a few broken bones, cracked ribs, and internal bleeding.” Human ailment was a little out of his depth of knowledge, but he knew enough to know Stiles should be awake by now. “They took him in for an MRI a little while ago. We’re just waiting for the results.”

“His head? Shit.” Noah collapsed into the chair on the other side of the bed when Derek nodded. “This kid. I love him to death, but he’s gonna be the end of me.”

Derek offered him a small smile. “I know what you mean.”

Noah gave a choked laugh. “Jumped in front of a car, huh?”

“Truck, actually.”

Derek started at the sound of the doctor’s voice. He’d been so wrapped up in his conversation with the Sheriff that he’d lost track of the activity in the hall.

“As next of kin, I have a....” Noah began to rise out of his seat as the doctor consulted his chart. “Derek Hale listed for a Meh... Mai... Miiie...?”

“Mieczyslaw,” Derek immediately corrected as Noah’s eyebrows rose. “Just call him Stiles.”

Noah sank back into the chair, heart stuttering in his chest as he scrutinized Derek. His expression was passive, but Derek could smell the subtle, underlying change from concern to confusion. He’d been just as surprised when he’d been informed by the hospital that he was listed as Stiles’ next of kin. He wasn’t even sure when Stiles had done that.

“Alright. Stiles Stilinski.” The doctor made a quick note on the chart. “Derek, is it?” he asked, and Derek nodded. “And...”

“Noah Stilinski. Stiles’ father,” the Sheriff provided helpfully.

“Excellent,” the doctor said, nodding thoughtfully for a moment. “First, Stiles is going to be just fine.”

The doctor briefly detailed the extent of Stiles’ injuries. They were numerous, and nothing that Derek hadn’t already heard, but the Sheriff nodded along, occasionally asking questions.

“Well, if you have any further questions, have the nurse page me, but for now, all we can do is wait,” the doctor said. He tucked the clipboard under his arm and smiled sympathetically, which Derek only partially trusted because his scent was off. Probably a result of desensitization after watching people die every day, but also the chemicals and medicine. “I’ll check in on Stiles a little later.”

Only after the doctor left and the door was firmly closed, did Derek finally take a seat again. First, as he had with the nurse, he dragged a hand down both Stiles’ arms and gently brushed the back of his fingers against Stiles’ cheek.

The Sheriff leaned forward in his seat and raised his eyebrows.

“It’s ah... a werewolf thing,” Derek explained. “Scent marking him. So he smells right. Like pack. It, well, it keeps me calm. In control.”

“I suppose shifting in the middle of a busy hospital would not be the best idea,” the Sheriff said, and Derek was quick to agree.

The Sheriff sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and quietly observed Derek.  It was all Derek could do no to squirm under the intense scrutiny.

“So... when did you learn Stiles’ name?” the Sheriff asked. “Because that’s not usually information my kid hands out willingly. Ask Scott. He still doesn’t know.”

“About a year ago.”

The Sheriff nodded. “That about the same time you became his next of kin?”

Derek swallowed, hand tightening around Stiles’ to help him combat the sudden anxiety he felt. He hadn’t gone head to head with the Sheriff yet, but he’d always known it was coming. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“No?” Derek prayed his voice didn’t crack. “I didn’t know he’d done that. I don’t even know when he did that.”

The Sheriff snorted. “Sounds like Stiles,” he said. “I suppose it makes sense. You’re out here with him. I’m not. If something happens...” They fell quiet for a moment. The steady pulse of the heart monitor filling the silence. “I’m glad he has you here with him, Derek. You’re a good friend to him.”

“I could have told you that,” Stiles croaked, his hand weakly squeezing Derek’s as he squinted through bleary eyes. “God, who turned up the sun.”

“It’s night,” Derek deadpanned, but the tightening in his chest lessened until he could breathe again. "How long have you been awake?"

The Sheriff was on his feet in seconds and smothered his son with hug. “What the hell were you thinking? Don’t scare me like that. Do you know how many laws I broke that I'm supposed to uphold on my way the airport?”

“Sorry, pops. Love you,” Stiles said, but his tired eyes held Derek’s gaze over his father’s shoulder. “Hey, Der... Say my name again.”

“Shut up, Mieczyslaw.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can stalk me on Tumblr here: [Always the Little Spoon](http://always-the-little-spoon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Part of the Sterek A-Z, weekly one word prompts, challenge on Tumblr. If you're curious about it, ask me!


End file.
